


In A Week

by ofriviq



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Near Death, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Title from a Hozier Song, Unrequited Love, and a thief, bucky is an elf, steve is a human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26362885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofriviq/pseuds/ofriviq
Summary: “It has many different names, but I’ve always known it as Execrable Efflorescence. It’s almost magical, and truly one of a kind. Long story short… let’s say you fall in love with me, but I don’t feel the same-”“Hang on!” Steve protested. “Why do I have to fall in love with you?”“Fine. Let’s say I fall in love with you, then, and you don’t love me back. Then my lungs would, and it’s true, I know it is because I’ve seen it, grow flowers. Your lungs grow flowers. The first symptom is coughing up flower petals, after that, you have a week.”“To live?”-: ✧ :-After a war between humans and elves leaves little Steve Rogers orphaned he has no choice but to resort to stealing to survive. He makes his way through the land with no real goal in mind, he steals what he eats and what he wears, until one day he decides to get on a boat and cross the sea to the elven lands, the same place his parents once met their end.After a failed coup on a little elven village close to the sea, Steve is forced into house arrest with Bucky, the village's head watchman.-: ✧ :-Title from "In A Week" by Hozier & Karen Cowley
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 5
Kudos: 58





	1. In The Woods Somewhere

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to this 3 part shit-show!
> 
> Not beta'd, all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Thank you to all my Twitter friends who read it and hyped it up with me! I love you all lots.
> 
> Happy reading!  
> Love, Aki <3

**-: ✧ :-** **CHAPTER ONE // IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE** **-: ✧ :-**

Steve was, by all means, a small boy.  _ Man _ . He’d always been the shortest of his friends, the one with the boniest elbows and knees. At twelve years old he was orphaned when both parents were lost in the war against  _ Gidra _ , the elven kingdom to the west. Could anyone blame him for resorting to thieving? It was almost too easy! Small hands slipping into pockets and bags, thin fingers barely doing more than grazing the market stalls. Eventually, the more sharp-eyed vendors took notice, however, and Steve had to leave his village in fear of getting caught.

He made his way through the land with no real goal in mind; he stole what he ate and what he wore, and soon almost everyone had heard of the nomadic boy-thief. Villagers whispered about his  _ looming stature  _ and  _ frosty hair  _ – in some villages he even had claws or horns. They called him a witch, a half-elf, a spirit – anything to separate him from them. In truth, he was shorter than two wine barrels stacked on each other, and his hair bore more resemblance to wet sand than frosty ice.

In all his years of thieving, Steve only got caught twice.

The first time had been on a cold and depressing winter night. There wasn’t any snow, but the air was dry and bitter, which Steve’s lungs certainly did not like. He just needed a warmer coat, and he’d stolen coats before. All he had to do was sneak into one of the houses in whatever village he was staying in, grab a coat, and run.

It was just his luck that he decided to enter the house of the town sheriff: the town sheriff who’d just that day heard from the smith that a few knives had gone missing and was sitting awake in front of an open fire, waiting, in case the thief would strike again.

Steve spent that night in a cell, awaiting the stocks. As he sat there, wallowing in his misery, he decided it was time to leave the land he had grown up in. There was nothing keeping him there anymore – no family or friends, not even a horse. So when the guard went to take a leak, Steve picked the lousy cell door lock and slipped into the night.

A month of travel took him over the Elven Sea into the very same land where his parents had once died. It also took him to the second, and last time, he’d ever get caught.

-: ✧ :-

“Thought you could outrun me, did you?”

Steve struggled against the man holding him down. The stranger had Steve’s left cheek pressed into the dirt, and both his arms pinned against his back.

“Humans,” he scoffed. “I thought you were supposed to be smart?”

“Let me go!” Steve yelled.

“I usually advocate for your kind, you know?”

“Didn’t ask, don’t care, get off.”

With a laugh, the man suddenly stood up. He moved swiftly and silently; he was graceful – an elf.

The second Steve was free he rolled onto his back and glared up at his captor, who was tall, much taller than him, with a face made up of strong lines and sharp angles that were brought together by a pair of kind, grey eyes. But that’s where the elven features ended. See, in all the stories Steve had heard from barmaids and travelling bards, elves were said to have long, silky hair the colour of newly fallen snow. But this elf, he had short dark curls, peeking out from a black hood.

“What’s your name, thief?”

“Why would I say?”

“I’m Bucky.”

Steve continued to glare at him. There was no point in getting up and running, the elf, Bucky, was too fast.  _ What kind of name was Bucky? _

“Simon.”

“Liar.”

“It’s Simon!”

“Alright!” The elf held his hands up, urging Steve to calm down. “Where’s your bag,  _ Simon _ ?”

“I  _ curse _ you, elf.” Steve spat.

“You want to be difficult, hm? You can tell me all about cursing me later. For now, let’s get you back to my village and clean you up, hm? You have leaves in your hair. In your everything, to be fair,” Bucky smiled. “Your bag? I saw you had one. I assume that’s where our relics are.”

“I hid it. By a tree.”

  
“You hid your brown bag by a tree in a forest. Like a needle in a haystack.”

“If I weren’t so stressed I wouldn’t have just… thrown it,” Steve said. He stood up and brushed the dirt and leaves off his clothes as best as he could. His face was probably a mess from where the elf had pushed it into the ground. Tomorrow he’d probably have a black eye.

“If you had simply refrained from stealing you wouldn’t have been stressed in the first place,” Bucky countered. “ _ Simon, _ you stole artefacts and relics we’ve spent centuries upon centuries collecting. Family heirlooms! If you got away, you would have made quite the name for yourself.”

“If I give you the bag, can I go?” Steve asked, arms crossed. He had to desire to spend any more time with this elf. Half-elf? Maybe that would explain the unusual hair. Ha! If Margaret, the baker from his home village, would have seen this. A  _ proper  _ half-elf. 

“Oh, no, no. I’m the head watchman of my village! I can’t just let a thief like you get away. I must bring you back and… handle you.”

“Sorry?” Steve blinked, arms dropping. “Handle me?”

Steve watched a grin appear on Bucky’s face. He was handsome, for sure, but Steve guessed all elves where. They were always described as ethereal, otherworldly. Bucky was neither, Steve thought, but by Danu was he annoying; standing there, hands on his hips with a grin on his full, red lips: the picture of confidence. Steve could bet every single one of those shiny things he’d stolen that Bucky had every elf from his village in his pocket.

“I’ve never had to deal with this before if I’m honest with you. Our village is not a tourist destination; we rarely see a new face, and we certainly do not attract the attention of thieves and crooks. So yes, Simon, I’m taking you to my home, and I’ll handle you.” Bucky said with a wave of his hand, as if ‘handle you’ sounded any better after that explanation.

“Oh by Morrigan… just let me go!” Steve grumbled. Could he not just show Bucky to the bag and then be on his merry way?

Immediately, Bucky’s eyes darkened.  _ Oh fuck.  _ Steve straightened his back and stared into them, not about to back down from a challenge.

“This land is vast, Steve.  _ Someone _ will always be on your heels, ready to jump you the second you let your guard down. In this case, consider  _ me _ that  _ someone _ . You should consider yourself lucky that it  _ was _ me. I have men in my village who would have killed you on sight.” Bucky rumbled, stepping close enough that he had to look down at Steve. “ _ Now let’s go _ .”

-: ✧ :-

Steve and Bucky searched for almost two hours before finding Steve’s bag nestled between the roots of a giant oak. By then, the sun had nearly set, and Steve was tired and starving. Bucky, however, looked like he could walk for another two hours without food and rest. Steve wondered if that was an elf-thing or a Bucky-thing.

As Bucky went through the bag, Steve sat down on the hard ground and leaned back against the oak. If he closed his eyes he’d probably manage to fall asleep, so be busied himself with observing Bucky more closely as he rummaged.

Bucky couldn’t be a full elf, Steve decided. While he did have the pointy ears and distinctive features, his hair set him aside. Steve wondered if Bucky got teased for it. Humans sure considered being half-elf a tragedy, but maybe it was different for elves. They won the war, after all.

Suddenly Bucky said up much straighter and turned to Steve. He was holding a clear glass bottle with a red, thick liquid inside.

“Simon,” he said. “Do you know what this is?” 

“Uh…” said Steve eloquently. “Jam?”

Bucky laughed almost hysterically and ran his free hand through his hair, causing the hood to fall off.

“This is  _ medicine.  _ It’s worth– I can’t even tell you. It’s priceless, Simon.”

“What does it do?” Steve asked curiously, sitting up straighter as well. How could a small vial of medicine mean so much to Bucky that he looked like he was going to laugh, cry and throw up at the same time?

“It’s for _Ispolnyayemyy Vysol_. Execrable Efflorescence in _your_ language. Surely you must know it?” Bucky said as he pocketed the vial.

“No. And… I’m not just saying that. I haven’t.” 

“It has many different names, but I’ve always known it as Execrable Efflorescence. It’s almost magical, and truly one of a kind. Long story short, let’s say you fall in love with me, but I don’t feel the same-”

“Hang on!” Steve protested. “Why do  _ I _ have to fall in love with  _ you _ ?”

“ _ Fine _ . Let’s say  _ I _ fall in love with  _ you _ , then, and you don’t love me back. Then my lungs would, and it’s true, I know it is because I’ve seen it, grow flowers! Your  _ lungs  _ grow  _ flowers.  _ The first symptom is coughing up flower petals; after that, you have a week.”

“To live?”

“Yes. Unless, of course, you confess your love. If you don’t, you die. There is no other cure, but the medicine you stole helps with the pain and the side effects. There’s a woman in my village who has it right now. It was her medicine you took, you see. She’s almost 200, and on her fifth day of the illness, but she refuses to confess.” 

“You elves took lovesick to a whole new level.” Steve scoffed.

Bucky chuckled, rising to his feet. “The sickness exists in your lands too, Simon. It must just be even rarer there than it is here.”

“They’re not  _ my _ lands,” Steve said, rising as well. “I left.”

“So are these your lands now just because you’re here?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Let’s forget our differences for now. I’m taking you to my village now; you’re probably starving.”

-: ✧ :-

It was dark when they reached the elven village, which was not much. In the dark, Steve could spot only around ten buildings, and he doubted that there was more to see in daylight.

Steve was taken to one of the outlying houses. He had assumed that Bucky would take him to some sort of cell, but it became clear to him as he was led inside the house that Bucky had taken him to  _ his home.  _

The house seemed to only consist of two rooms. The first one, where you entered, seemed to be the bedroom, Steve thought. And the study, and also the good room. Practically everything but the kitchen and dining room, although judging by the plates that crowded the desk together with stacks of books, scrolls, and maps, Bucky did eat in here as well, despite the lack of a proper dining table. But who was Steve to judge? He didn’t even own a house, let alone a table specifically for eating.

“Cozy,” Steve said.

“Thank you, thief,” Bucky replied, dropping Steve’s bag carelessly on the floor.  _ Steve  _ thought it was careless, at least. All that whining about how important those artefacts were just to toss them on the floor? “Make yourself comfortable,” he continued. “I’ll see if I have anything to eat.”

Steve barely had time to get his shoes, which are borderline too small, off his aching feet before Bucky called him into the kitchen, also known as the other room in Bucky’s house.

He dropped his shoes by the door and padded into the kitchen on socked feet.   
  


“Please do sit down,” Bucky said, not looking up from whatever it was he was doing. “Unfortunately all I can offer is cold soup and this morning's bread.”

“That’s okay,” Steve said, sitting down by the small table placed just underneath one of the windows. A part of him felt like he should question Bucky’s hospitality; he did just try to rob them after all. “Why are you so kind? Why am I not in a cell?”

“It’s February, would you  _ really _ prefer an underground cell with no warm fire in sight over this?” Bucky questioned.

“No. But-”

“None of that.” Bucky turned around with a bowl in each hand and a slice of bread balanced on the edge of each one. He placed one of the bowls in front of Steve before sitting down, taking the second bowl for himself. “Think of this as house arrest. In my house.”

“Have you  _ really _ never been robbed before?”

“As I said… there’s not much to our village and elves are not the thieving kind. But, by the god’s, Simon, the way you speak makes it seem like all humans are!” Bucky laughed. Steve kind of hated that laugh, kind of hated Bucky, to be fair. His aura of confidence and carelessness just didn’t sit right with Steve.

“It’s Steve.”

Bucky’s lips fell, but only for a split second before he was grinning at Steve again. He bit off a piece of bread and chewed it for an uncomfortably long time before swallowing.

“ _ You’re  _ Steve, I’m assuming,” he said, all casual. “Are you gonna eat, or what?”

To avoid replying, Steve dug into his food.

He could barely remember the last proper,  _ homecooked _ , meal he’d had. There was something about sitting at a table and being able to take his time with the food that made Steve feel warm inside, despite the soup being cold.

They ate in silence. Bucky would sometimes ask questions. Simple ones like ‘where are you from’ and ‘how old are you’, but Steve pretended not to hear him.

He wondered how long this  _ stupid  _ house arrest would last. 


	2. Dinner & Diatribes

**-: ✧ :-** **CHAPTER TWO // DINNER & DIATRIBES ** **-: ✧ :-**

Two months. The house arrest would last two months.

After Steve and Bucky shared their meal of cold soup, they had gone to bed. At first, Bucky had offered up his bed, which Steve had flat out refused. So they had shared it. It wasn’t too difficult.

The next day Bucky had put a blindfold on Steve and taken him to the village elders, who turned out to be Bucky’s parents, for an official sentence. He should probably have counted himself lucky that he had Bucky fighting for his side, however, seeing as his mother thought Steve should be executed at once.

After three whole hours, Steve got sentenced to two months of house arrest. In Bucky’s house.

On the way back to Bucky’s, a blindfolded Steve had complained. What was he even going to do inside for two months? ‘Chores’ had been Bucky’s response.

_Now_ , Steve was just about exactly one month into his punishment, and he could not be more ready for it to end. He spent his days mindlessly stalking around Bucky’s rooms, dusting what needed to be dusted, wiping what needed to be wiped, washing what needed to be washed. It was a dull, seemingly endless cycle of mundane tasks that Steve had never even thought about before. What’s there to dust when you’re always on the run? But Bucky seemed pleased enough with the results.

-: ✧ :-

On the one month mark, Bucky came home from wherever he went during the day much earlier than Steve had expected. Meaning that Bucky found him carefully looking through one of the books on Bucky’s desk, something he’d been strictly forbidden from doing with no explanation. Steve guessed Bucky just liked being annoying, because he couldn’t understand the books anyway, seeing as they were all written in _el'fiyskiy,_ the language of the elves.

“Hello, Steve,” Bucky said, closing the door behind him. “Having fun?”

“Uh,” said Steve as he quickly closed the book and got up, backing up from the desk. “Sorry I… I just get so bored! You go away for hours and–”

Steve was cut off suddenly when Bucky bent forward with the force of a dry cough. That was certainly new: Bucky had gone and gotten himself a cold! Only fair, thought Steve. 

“Are you alright?” Steve said, eyes narrowing in concern. “Do you want something warm for your throat?”

Bucky looked at him with red eyes, shaking his head as the last wave of coughing rattled his ribs. “I’m fine,” he croaked, voice like gravel. “Sorry. You were gonna say?”

“I’m sorry for reading your books, but it’s boring to just… sit here,” Steve sighed, slumping his shoulders. “Bucky... you gotta understand.”

Bucky nodded and slipped out of his coat. “I do, Steve. Would you maybe like to care for the garden too?”

Steve almost said no, just to say no, before he stopped to think. Garden? That’s outside.

“You’d let me go outside? Unsupervised?” Steve questioned.

“Do I need to worry?” Bucky asked him as he moved further into the house: towards the kitchen to get dinner started. “If you run, I’ll catch you.”

Steve followed Bucky to the kitchen. “You needn’t worry. I’ll behave,” he said, taking what had become _his_ seat by the table.

Though they didn’t speak much, Steve liked to sit in the kitchen while Bucky cooked. Steve tried to tell himself that it was because he wanted to make sure Bucky was not poisoning him, but he knew it was because he had grown to enjoy the company of the elf. The full-elf, surprisingly. Bucky’s very elven parents both had the same dark curls.

“Good,” Bucky said as he went about preparing their dinner. Cooking was the one chore Steve had not been given, seeing as Steve had never cooked a meal in his life. “I need to harvest the potatoes and the vegetables for the spring festival this week, so they must be well taken care of.”

“Spring festival?”

“I told you about it, but I assume you weren’t listening. As usual,” Bucky mused, throwing a pointed look at Steve over his shoulder.

“Maybe if you said interesting things I’d listen,” Steve shrugged. He made sure to smile, though, so Bucky would know that he was joking.

And Bucky sure laughed, which made Steve laugh as well. Although once again they were cut off by Bucky’s horrible coughing. He turned away from the vegetable’s on the cutting board and coughed into the crook of his elbow. Steve watched him and found that he even felt worried.

“Bucky, those coughs don’t sound too good,” he remarked but made no effort to get up and help him. He couldn't let Bucky know he _cared._

Finally, Bucky cleared his throat and turned back to the vegetables, ignoring Steve’s words. “The spring festival is one of the biggest and most important events of the year. We dine and drink and dance. It’s wonderful: tarts and pies. My mother makes an amazing peach pie.”

“Sounds nice, I suppose. I’ve never really had the chance to dine and drink and dance before, so it’ll be fun.”

Bucky paused his slicing. “Steve…” he turned around to look at Steve, sitting at the table with one leg pulled up against his chest, arms wrapped around it. He was wearing Bucky’s clothes. “I don’t think you’re invited.”

“Oh,” Steve said. That cold feeling in his chest was not disappointment; it couldn’t be.

“I thought-”

“It’s okay, Bucky.”

Dinner and bedtime were quiet and awkward affairs that night.

“Sorry about the books,” Steve whispered into the darkness after Bucky had blown out the last candle and crawled into bed.

Bucky coughed, again, before replying, “it’s okay.”

-: ✧ :-

  
  


The next day, Bucky came home at his usual time. Steve was still outside in the garden, digging around in the dirt, trying to figure out what was what. Bucky had told him that morning, but Steve had been preoccupied, staring at the way Bucky’s curls moved in the early spring breeze. 

“Come inside, will you?” Bucky called.

Steve brushed off his knees before following Bucky inside.

A day outside had been surprisingly nice. Bucky’s house was far enough away from the village centre that Steve couldn’t see much of it. It didn’t help that the rest of the village seemed to have been built at the top of a hill, either. But it had been nice to breathe fresh air and feel the sun on his pale skin. Besides, the cold wasn’t as harsh when you knew you had a warm fire to defrost in front of later.

What would he do when the house arrest ended, and he was free to go? For the first time since he lost his parents, Steve had a _home._ The thought scared him just as much as it pleased him. Bucky was a strange roommate, yes, and this new cough was slightly annoying, but the bed was warm and soft, the food tasted okay, and the fire burning never went out. It was safe.

“Did you get the cough checked out?” Steve asked. 

“Yes. Just a cold,” Bucky dismissed.

Side by side, they took off their outerwear and hung it off before going into the kitchen together. Steve took his seat, and Bucky started the dinner. 

For a few minutes, they were quiet.

“I spoke to my parents today,” Bucky said, breaking the tense silence.

“How nice,” _mine are dead._

“I asked them if you could be invited to the festival.”

“Bucky! You didn’t have to do that! It’s fine, honestly,” Steve protested.

“You should be there, Steve. Whether you like it or not, you’ve lived here for a month, now. You’re a part of this village, so you deserve a seat at the table.”

“It would be dumb to go, I have never even been outside your house,” Steve argued. He got up and crossed the room to Bucky. “Bucky, come on, you know it’s dumb.”

Bucky turned to look at Steve. Neither of them spoke for a few moments, just stared each other down.

“I want you there,” Bucky said finally.

And Steve _really_ wanted to go, but it felt so foolish. Who was he to go to an elf festival after he stole their favourite shiny trinkets?

Steve was just about to speak, to argue, when Bucky was once more forced to bend over with the force of his cough.

“Bucky, by Morrigan, I’m making you tea,” Steve said sternly, leaving no room for argument. He turned away to get a cup and the tea leaves, and when he turned back around, Bucky had fortunately stopped coughing. “What’s that?” Steve asked.

In his hand, Bucky had a small pink petal.

“Must have been stuck in my hair or clothes. Sorry about the coughing, I don’t need the tea, Steve,” Bucky said gently as he put the petal in his pocket. Weird, thought Steve, to save a petal.

“If you don’t drink the tea I won’t go to the festival.”

Bucky laughed and turned back to his cooking. “Fine, stubborn little thief, I’ll drink your tea.”

-: ✧ :-

That night, when they laid side by side in the pitch black of night, Steve felt happy. Bucky had accepted the tea, and in just a few days, Steve would be going to a festival – an elven festival. 

“Steve, you awake?” Bucky whispered. Steve just hummed softly in response. There was no real reason to be so quiet; they were the only two in the house after all. “I told you about _Derevo Pravednosti_ , right? That big tree that does the little _earthquake_ , as you called it.”

“Yeah, you did.”

Steve had woken up on his first morning in the village in panic. The ground had been shaking, and in his disorientation and panic, Steve had forgotten where he was. He had managed to wake Bucky, of course, with all his wailing and kicking. Bucky had laughed, because he was a real asshole, before explaining to Steve that it was _Derevo Pravednosti_ , whatever that meant, and that it happened every morning. It was a sign of good fortune for that day, and apparently, good fortune came every day if you were an elf.

“The tree shook the day you stole our things,” Bucky said, still quietly.

“It probably knew you’d get your things back,” Steve replied, equally as quiet. “What would you do if the tree didn’t shake one day?”

“Find the cause and eliminate it.”

-: ✧ :-

  
  


Bucky’s cough worsened over the next day, but neither mentioned it. After dinner, they went to sit down in front of the fireplace in the front room with a cup of lemonade that an elf named Natasha had given Bucky.

“You’ll like Natasha,” Bucky said as they got situated with pillows and blankets.

“Will Natasha like me?” Steve asked cautiously. He was still on the fence about the festival, but Bucky had taken his tea, and that was their deal.

“Of course! What’s not to like, hm?” Bucky grinned at Steve.

“That’s not even a little funny, Bucky.” Steve squared his shoulders and stared into the fire. Not that _Bucky_ in all his elven glory would understand, but Steve was not the happiest with what Danu and Brigid had given him. A nose that didn’t go with the rest of his face, hair that never looked washed and a body that just wouldn’t grow. 

“I’m not joking, Steve. You’re a nice friend to have,” Bucky smiled. His voice had taken that tone it often did when he spoke to Steve; kind, but with an edge on the wrong side of being condescending.

Steve looked at him, incredulously. “Friend?”

“Are we not friends?”

Steve shrugged. Were they friends? They probably were. Maybe Bucky could ask his earthquake tree since it seemed to know so much. 

“If we aren’t, I’d like us to be,” Bucky continued.

“I don’t know if I’ve had a friend before,” Steve admitted quietly.

And if that wasn’t something. Steve had been on his own for ten years, and no matter how deep he dug, there were no memories of _friends_ from his home village. There were faint memories of _kids his age,_ of course, but he felt wrong calling them his friends. Steve didn’t even know their names or their faces.

“Why did you start stealing? I’m assuming you’ve done it a while.”

“Ten years. My parents died in the, um, war. I’ve been alone since then. No one in my village wanted to take me in, I guess. I don’t remember much. I stole to survive. I never took more than what I needed. I have no desire to get rich; I just want to survive.” Steve kept his words soft as if speaking too loudly would hurt him. He hated _thinking_ about his past; talking about it was worse.

“Survive or live?” Bucky asked.

Steve frowned at him, “what do you mean?”

“There’s a difference. You were stealing to survive, not to live. You didn’t make friends, apparently. Did you stay long anywhere?” Steve shook his head, and Bucky continued. “No permanence. You weren’t living Steve. What’s surviving when there’s no life to live?”

Bucky coughed. They didn’t mention it, nor did they speak about the four little flower petals that fell to the ground. They both knew exactly what it meant. 

_What’s surviving when there’s no life to live?_

Steve looked into the flames and wondered who it was Bucky loved, and why he didn’t just confess. What would Steve do if Bucky died? And why did the thought of Bucky being in love with someone hurt just as much as the idea of him dying?

-: ✧ :-

Steve and Bucky had breakfast together the next morning, which was unusual. Bucky was usually up with the sun while Steve slept into the later hours of the a.m. before getting up to start on the list of chores Bucky left for him.

Neither of them said much besides ‘pass the butter’, but the silence wasn’t _that_ tense. It wasn’t as awkward as Steve had thought it’d be.

It wasn’t until they were both finished eating, and Steve was taking care of the dishes that Bucky spoke.

“I’m sorry about yesterday, Steve. I feel like I spoke out of turn. I made our evening quite sad,” Bucky sighed.

Steve dried his soapy hands on a towel and turned to Bucky. “It’s okay. You were right, to be honest. What’s surviving when there’s no life? I just hadn’t thought of it like that before. I was so determined just not to die. I wanted to show my parents that I would be okay without them. I bet they’re laughing at me right now. Or crying. Their son is living with an elf, for Danu’s sake,” Steve laughed, but it sounded surprisingly wet. He turned back to the dishes quickly, not wanting Bucky to see him cry.

“It was wrong of me to attack you like that, though. Especially when I… relate to it myself,” Bucky murmured. 

“You relate to it?” Steve asked incredulously. He stuck his hands back into the warm water and continued washing their bowls and cups. “You have a family, Bucky. And a home. You’re… you’re very lucky.”

“I know, trust me!” Bucky was quick to say. “But Steve… I feel trapped here. You, humans, see us elves as– as these _serene, peaceful_ beings: a friend to drink tea with. But you more than most must know that we’re cruel, brutal and uncaring. We went to war with humans over seemingly nothing, and we killed thousands upon thousands. And let’s not forget that my mother wanted _you_ dead for what you did. I’m expected to be like that! Like _her_ ! I’m expected to sentence petty thieves who don’t even know what they’re taking to _death_. If the tree doesn’t shake the ground, I must find the cause and get rid of it; banishing is not enough. Apparently.” There were tears in Bucky’s eyes. Steve realised that he wanted to reach out and dry them, catch them before they could fall, but he stopped himself.

“There is so much they expect of me,” Bucky continued, “there’s a burden weighing me down with every step I take, and it keeps getting heavier. But you, Steve, you're the first breath of fresh air I’ve breathed in _years_. The way you… carry yourself the way you speak! It’s new, and it’s exciting. I want to travel to see the world. Like you have.”

“Like I have? I’m sure there’s a better perspective than that of a thief constantly on the run.” Steve put down the last bowl and dried his hands again before turning to face Bucky just as he fell into another coughing fit. Petals, small and dainty, fell to the wooden floor.

“If I wasn’t… _me…_ The things I’d do, Steve. The places I’d go and the things I would say,” Bucky mumbled, eyes locked on the petals. “I can only imagine the stories you have to tell and the things you’ve seen.”

“Can’t you just take time off and go? Have you never asked if you’re allowed to leave?” Steve queried, eyes on the petals as well. _Confess, Bucky,_ Steve wanted to say. He wanted to scream it. _Confess, because I don’t know what I would do if you died._ Steve counted the days in his head. Four had passed since the first coughing, meaning Bucky had three more days. Seventy-two hours – then he’d be gone.

“When I was younger, sure. But my parents are the village elders; I’ve been training to take their place since I learned to read.” There was a solemn smile on Bucky’s lips, and Steve hated it. Where was that confident Bucky from just yesterday? “Before that, when I was younger, I spent my days in the forest. I would run around, pretending that I was exploring the world. The trees were my enemies, my foes and I– I was happy. There was something so… fascinating about the unknown. And deep down, I’m still that child who wants to discover the world.”

“Run away,” Steve said as if it was _that_ simple. “Run away with me.”

“No I- I can’t just run, Steve. I’m not- No. And with you? They’ll notice and track me down! I’m the next in line after my parents; they’d track me to the ends of the earth!” Bucky exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. There was another cough, and another petal fell to the floor. “Besides,” Bucky fixed his gaze on Steve, “I am _not_ allowing you to risk your life for me.”   
  


“Who said anything about risking our lives?” Steve said petulantly, arms crossed.

“Steve. If they catch you-”

“I don’t care,” Steve declared, cutting Bucky off. He took a step closer towards the elf and looked up at him. “I don’t care. By Morrigan, Bucky. I do not care.”

“You don’t care,” Bucky repeated as if he didn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “You… don’t care? You’d run and take me with you?”

“Yes.”

“Out of this place?”

“I’d take you anywhere you’d want to go.”

“I don’t think I understand.” 

They were barely speaking above a whisper, and somehow they had ended up close enough that Steve could feel Bucky’s breath on his face. He thought about the girl Bucky was in love with and the petals he coughed up for her; if he didn’t confess soon, he would die. 

“What is it you don’t understand?”

“I-I haven’t been good to you! I was the one who captured you for heaven's sake. I-”

“You gave me a home, Bucky, now I owe you. Do you want to see the world or not?”

“Yes, I do. But- but we haven’t packed or planned!” The tears spilled over, and Steve watched Bucky cry. This time he couldn’t stop himself, however, and reached out and wiped the tears away. Bucky froze at the touch, and Steve started to retract immediately.

“Sorry,” Steve mumbled.

“No, it’s fine.” 

They said nothing for a few moments and just looked at each other. There was a warmth in Steve’s chest, as well as a desire to lean forward and- and what? Kiss Bucky? Bucky who was so deeply in love with someone who didn’t love him back that he’d developed a magical illness. Steve wondered distantly if it was Natasha he loved.

Once more, it was Bucky who broke the silence. “Do you really think we could do it?”

“There is no doubt in my heart,” Steve said; and he meant every word.

Bucky sighed, taking a step back. He slumped into one of the chairs by the table and looked at Steve with that solemn smile from before.

“Humans,” he said before another coughing fit took over. There were more petals now. Steve decided that he didn’t like Natasha if it truly was her Bucky loved. No, Steve r _esented_ her. She was killing him, killing his Bucky. “Okay.”

“Okay?” 

“We’ll talk more about this later. I must get to work, alright? Think about this, Steve. Think about it carefully.”

Without another word, Bucky was gone.


	3. My Love Will Never Die

**-: ✧ :-** **CHAPTER THREE // MY LOVE WILL NEVER DIE** **-: ✧ :-**

They were running. Steve’s ears were ringing, and he couldn’t hear anything but the wheezing of his lungs. Distantly he could hear Bucky, coughing so hard he was barely running upright. Even further away was the thundering of hooves. 

They should have stayed. Bucky should have confessed. They should have just stayed. 

-: ✧ :-

It had been earlier the same day, barely two hours prior, that Bucky had slammed open the door to his house and startled Steve who was sprawled out in their bed, mending a pair of socks. 

“Bucky!” Steve exclaimed. “Dammit… I pricked my finger.” He studied his thumb, pressing a little on it to watch a bead of blood form.

“The tree,” Bucky wheezed, “it didn’t shake the ground. They’re coming for you.”

-: ✧ :-

They had made their plans during dinner the previous night. They’d slip away during the festival and never look back. They had packed two bags, and Bucky had spent the night cooking foods that would last them a while. 

First, they’d see the Elven Sea, and then they’d travel further inland towards the bigger cities before making their way towards the orc settlements in the mountains. They had plans to cross the water and travel around Steve’s lands too.

But now it was all for nothing. 

-: ✧ :-

Despite his years on the run, Steve had never actually gotten very good at running. Since he turned fourteen, he’d suspected that there was something wrong with his lungs, but there had never been an official diagnosis; Steve couldn’t afford one. There was also the fact that his legs just sometimes didn’t want to listen to his brain, and therefore Steve often found himself falling over the smallest of roots and rocks. So when there was a loud thud followed by a wheezy cough, Steve was almost surprised to realise he was still running and not laying face down on the ground.

Steve looked over his shoulder and saw Bucky, clearly in pain, rolling onto his back.

“Bucky! Get up!” Steve yelled, running back to Bucky. The elven riders were catching up.

“I… I can’t, Steve,” Bucky wheezed. His eyes were unfocused, scanning every inch of Steve’s face. “Run, go. You can–” he was cut off by a slight cough, “–still do it.”

“I’m not leaving you!” Did Bucky  _ really _ expect Steve just to leave him behind and run after everything Bucky had done for him? If Bucky had just confessed, they could have been far gone by now. “Why didn’t you tell her?!” Steve demanded. “You’re dying! Why didn’t you confess?”

Bucky’s eyes finally met Steve’s, and he smiled almost painfully. “Confess to who?”

“Natasha! Why didn’t you tell her you loved her so you could-” Steve’s clasped a hand over his mouth to silence his cry. “You’re dying, Bucky–”

“Steve.” Bucky reached out and cupped Steve's face with one trembling hand. “I’m not in love with Natasha.”

Steve desperately grabbed Bucky’s hand and pressed the knuckles to his lips. “Then, who? Maybe it’s not too late! We can– we can go back! It’s gonna be okay.”

Bucky turned his face to the sky. “It’s you. I love you. I always have. Every day, Steve, I’ve felt nothing but love for you. You’re the first good thing that happened to me in years.

“Me? N–no, Bucky. I– not me.” Steve couldn’t think.  _ He  _ killed Bucky? All this time, it had been his fault? Steve felt close to throwing up, but the elves were getting closer; Steve could hear them. They had to continue. “Bucky? Get up. We have to keep going; they’re getting closer.”

There was no reply. Bucky’s eyes were closed, but a smile was frozen on his lips.

Steve remembered the first week of house arrest when he had hated that he had to share a bed with Bucky. After years of being on the run alone, he wasn’t used to the sounds of another person sleeping: the loud breaths and the tossing and turning.

At that moment, Steve would have returned every piece of gold he ever stole to hear Bucky draw another breath into his lungs. Just one more.

“Get up!” he whimpered. “Get up, for Danu’s sake! Bucky we have- we have to keep going! They’re almost here.” Steve looked in the direction of the noise. He could see the elves now. There were six of them, led by a woman with fiery red hair. She was beautiful even from a distance. In a desperate attempt to flee, Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s torso, but his legs weren’t strong enough to stand up. He pressed his face into Bucky’s matted locks and whispered desperately. “Please, Buck. Get up. For me, hm? I love you. Please just stand up. There– There’s still time. I love you, Bucky, come on. Wake up, goddamnit!”

The riders stopped abruptly not too far away from where Steve was sitting, clutching Bucky’s limp body to his chest. The red-haired woman slid off her horse and unsheathed her sword.

“Don’t hurt him!” Steve yelled. He scrambled to get away, but his legs couldn't take them far. “Please! It’s all my fault! Please, just don’t hurt him. Don’t hurt him.”   
  


The woman raised her sword, and suddenly everything went black.

-: ✧ :-

Steve hurt everywhere. Truly everywhere. He sat up with a groan and slowly blinked his eyes open. There wasn’t much to look at, so Steve assumed he was in a cell back in Bucky’s village. Someone was probably on their way to take Steve to his death. Two months ago, Steve would have fought tooth and nail to get out of this cell, to avoid death, but now Steve found that he couldn't care less.

He had lost Bucky. Even worse, he had killed him. Bucky had been in love with him, and Steve hadn’t loved him back hard enough. Steve didn’t even know what love felt like. Was love the warmth he felt in his chest? The warmth that was now gone: that had left the second Bucky did? Was it the way his body tingled when Bucky ruffled his hair or teased him? Was it the feeling of  _ home  _ that Bucky gave him? Steve wasn’t sure, would never be sure, not with Bucky out of this world.

He heard steps approaching, and his head snapped up. The red-haired woman from before appeared from around the corner with a grim expression on her face.

“Steve. My name is Natasha,” the woman said. “How are you feeling?”

So that was Natasha? Steve almost smiled. Bucky had thought the two of them would like each other. If he only could see them now, standing on either side of a cell door.

“How do you think I’m feeling?” Steve scoffed. “I’m in pain. My muscles hurt; my heart hurts.”

“The heart is a muscle,” Natasha said

“I don’t care,” Steve said, looking at his hands. There was mud caked under his fingernails. “Will it be painful?” He asked quietly.

“Will what be painful?”

“My execution.”

Natasha hummed. “The elder’s haven’t decided your fate yet, young thief. They want to speak to you.”

-: ✧ :-

Natasha led Steve through the underground tunnels that made up the village’s mostly unused prison. They didn’t speak, which Steve was completely fine with. He had nothing to say to a woman whose friend he killed anyway.

Steve was once more taken to what he had assumed was a court building. He didn’t know, and he couldn’t read the stone carvings above the door. Asking Natasha wasn’t an option.

“Wait,” Natasha said when they were just outside the doors. “Don’t lie to them, Steve, if they ask questions. Bucky’s their son. You might be a thief, but I see that there’s honour in your heart.”

All Steve could muster in reply was a weak ‘okay’ before Natasha opened the doors. Steve entered first, followed closely by Natasha.

Steve recognised most of their faces since his last time, but the faces of Bucky’s parents were burnt into his brain. They stood in the middle of the room with expressionless faces, ready to give what would probably be an execution order. It was only fair, Steve thought.  _ I killed their son. _

“Thief!” Bucky’s mother raged. Steve felt bad for not remembering her name, for never asking Bucky about his family. “You stand before us, accused of  _ prepyatstvuya derevu pravednosti,  _ of hindering the tree of righteousness! A crime that is punishable by death and death only.”

Steve wasn’t sure he was following. What about the fact that he killed Bucky? Was the tree more important to this woman than her son?

“Mother!”    
  


A door at the back of the room opened.

“Bucky?”  _ Bucky died. _

“Mother, what is this?! Let Steve-”

“ _ Bucky, _ ” Steve breathed.

“Steve!”

Steve had no idea who moved first, or how he ended up in Bucky’s arms halfway across the room. He just knew that suddenly he felt warm again. Safe, even. Steve knew that he was crying, but so was Bucky; it seemed. Because when Bucky cupped his face and  _ kissed him _ , he could taste their tears, mixed.

“I’m sorry,” Steve sobbed into Bucky’s mouth. “You  _ died _ , I’m sorry.”

“ _ Steve _ ,” Bucky said, pulling back just slightly, “it’s only day six.”

“But I don’t- I don’t understand. Why were you sick? I-I feel the same, Bucky. I love you,” he cried. If the feeling was mutual, then Bucky shouldn’t have been sick, wasn’t that what he had said?

“I know, sweetest,” the elf said gently. “I can explain it later, alright? I must speak to my mother first.”

Steve had forgotten entirely that they weren’t alone in Bucky’s cottage, alone at home. “Oh, right,” he mumbled and took a step back from Bucky.

Bucky immediately turned to his mother, his face now twisted with anger. “I will not let you execute him,” he rumbled.

“Son-” Bucky’s mother began.

“No!” Bucky yelled.

“ _ Drevo pravednosti ne pokolebalo zemlyu, synok. Posmotri, k chemu eto nas privelo. My dolzhny priznat' yego vinovnym i ustranit' _ ,” Bucky’s mother said, switching to the elven language.

“ _ YA yego lyublyu. Eto vse, chto vazhno, mama, _ ” Bucky replied. He pulled Steve closer, holding him to his chest while he stared down his mother. “ _ Izgonite nas. My uydem do nastupleniya temnoty. _ ”

“ _ YA ne progonyu syna _ ! ”

“Please…” said Steve. “I-I don’t know what you’re saying, but I beg of you. Let me  _ live _ . For the first time since I was a child, I feel like I can live, not just survive. That’s thanks to Bucky.”

Judging by the look on Bucky’s mother’s face, Steve should have stayed quiet.

-: ✧ :-

After only 40 minutes of discussion between the elders and the elder council, Steve and Bucky were banished. They were given 4 hours to pack up their belongings and leave the village. Natasha gave them a horse and a wagon, which they loaded up with what they could. Bucky seemed to prioritise his books over furniture, which Steve questioned. The elf just brushed him off.

Steve watched Natahsa and Bucky say farewell from where he was perched at the back of the wagon. His heart broke for both of them. Bucky might not have been  _ in love with  _ Natasha, but he clearly loved her. What if Bucky would regret leaving? Steve tried not to think about it, but it was a difficult thought to ignore. It was Steve’s fault that Bucky  _ almost died _ , that he was banished from his home and separated from his friends.

“ _ Idite s mirom i siloy, _ ” Bucky grinned. He pressed his forehead against Natasha’s, and she repeated the words back to him.

Natasha slipped something into Bucky’s pockets and said, “ _ Kol'tso. _ ” Bucky nodded at her and took a step back. “ _ Ne zabyvay menya, _ ” she said. It sounded like a plea.

“ _ YA ne smog by, yesli by poproboval, sestra. _ ”

-: ✧ :-

That night they set up camp in a clearing. Tomorrow they would reach  _ Shchit,  _ one of the bigger cities in the elven lands.

Bucky gathered wood, and they made a fire. It reminded Steve of that night in the house. Even though it was just a few days ago, it felt like months had passed. It was strange to think that a month ago, Steve had been a thief without a home, stealing to survive. He hadn’t been living, just like Bucky had said. It was almost scary, the way Bucky knew him so well.

“Steve, sweetest. You’re crying,” Bucky whispered. They were sitting huddled together by the fire, and Steve had rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“I’m sorry,” Steve murmured. “For all of this.”

Bucky pressed his lips against Steve’s hair. “I could have stayed if I wanted to.”

“Then I’m sorry about the sickness. I don’t understand why you got it when I loved you back.”

“Have you ever been in love before, sweetest?” Bucky asked. He cupped Steve’s face in both hands so that he could look at his face. Steve looked into Bucky’s kind and gentle eyes and shook his head. “I don’t think you… knew. That you love me, I mean. And so the sickness grew. It’s not your fault.”

“If I had known–”

“Then I don’t think we’d be sitting here. I think we’d be in the cottage. Three weeks would have passed, and you would’ve gone. The sickness gave us a sense of…  _ urgency _ ,” Bucky smiled softly at him before he started laughing. “I can’t believe you thought I loved Natasha.”

“She’s the only one I knew that name of!” Steve argued, crossing his arms. “And frankly, she was quite beautiful.”

“Steve, she’s like my sister.” 

“How was I supposed to know, hm?”

Bucky shrugged and said, “I do regret not showing you my village. I may have hated it, but it was my home.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Steve’s head once more on Bucky’s shoulder. The darkness around them felt like a blanket, and the cold felt so far away, just like in the cottage. There was a small part of Steve’s brain whispering that the  _ cottage _ had never been what gave him a feeling of home.

“Can I kiss you?” Bucky asked after a while.

Steve nodded, and as their lips met, he  _ knew  _ that everything would work out. He was home. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Another thank you to my friends who helped me while I was writing and who helped wrap it all up.
> 
> Even though it only took me three days to write this, I've honestly grown quite attached... So who knows! Maybe I'll make this a series ;)
> 
> Find me on Twitter @daedpoets
> 
> TRANSLATIONS  
> I used Google Translate for this, so I apologise if anything is completely messed up. Please let me know if that's the case :)
> 
>  _Gidra_ \- Hydra  
>  _Ispolnyayemyy Vysol_ \- Execrable Efflorescence  
>  _Derevo Pravednosti_ \- The Tree of Righteousness  
>  _Prepyatstvuya derevu pravednosti_ \- Hindering the Tree of Righteousness  
>  _Drevo pravednosti ne pokolebalo zemlyu, synok. Posmotri, k chemu eto nas privelo. My dolzhny priznat' yego vinovnym i ustranit'_ \- The tree of Righteousness has not shaken the earth, son. Look where this has led us. I must to find him guilty and eliminate him.  
>  _A yego lyublyu. Eto vse, chto vazhno, mama_ \- I love him. That's all that matters, mother.  
>  _Zgonite nas. My uydem do nastupleniya temnoty._ \- Banish us. We'll leave before dark.  
>  _YA ne progonyu syna!_ \- I will not send my son away!  
>  _Idite s mirom I siloy_ \- Go with peace and power.  
>  _Kol'tso_ \- The ring.  
>  _Ne zabyvay menya_ \- Don't forget me.  
>  _YA ne smog by, yesli by poproboval, sestra._ \- I couldn't if I tried, sister.  
>  _Shchit_ \- Shield.
> 
> STEVE'S DEITIES  
> Steve reference's three of the old Celtic deities.
> 
> Morrigan - Goddess of death, discord, and war.  
> Danu - Mother goddess and ancestor of the Irish Tuatha dé Danann.  
> Brigid - Goddess of spring, fertility, and life.


End file.
